


Beautiful Fool

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Sexual Assault, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, low calorie angst, omega Brock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock is reminded that he's not good enough for Jack. Jack doesn't agree.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Beautiful Fool

Jack was reading, head bowed low over this book, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Brock watched. Jack shifted a bit, sucked a breath through nose and exhaled softly. Brock watched. He shifted his shoulder, raising his head a bit as he turned the page. Brock watched. Jack settled. 

Brock looked away. 

The house was quiet and warm. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the room, all faded brown furniture. The fireplace cast tall shadows against the walls. Brock looked at the flames, felt them dancing in his amber eyes. He turned his attention back toward Jack. He was the centerfold in the room, life bleeding out around him as he sat there, tall and proud. Quietly commanding. Strong, smart, unbreakable. He was so much older than Brock, he had so much to learn from him. 

“You know it’s not fun to read while being stared at.” Jack turned the page without looking up from his book. “What’s going through that head of yours.” 

“Nothin’.” Brock’s cheeks colored and he turned his attention towards the laundry he had been working on. 

“Nothing, hm?” Jack slipped a bookmark between the pages and set the book aside. “Nothing.” 

He took off his glasses, folding them and setting them on top of the book. Brock watched him, guilt curling in his chest. He didn’t want to take up Jack’s time, didn’t want to annoy him or steal his attention. He got to his feet and crossed the room. Brock looked down, shamed. Jack caught his jaw and lifted it until Brock was gazing in his moss colored eyes. 

“I don’t think it’s nothing. Talk to me sweetheart.” 

“Nothin’,” he insisted. “I was just… I dunno know. I like looking at you.” 

Jack searched his eyes for dishonesty and seeing none he blessed with him a wry smile. “Be that as it may, I don’t like to be stared at.” 

Jack released his jaw and walked to the table where he kept a decanter of Knob Creek. “Fetch me ice.” 

Brock hurried to do so, taking the squat glass from its spot beside the crystal decanter. Jack snagged his wrist, long slender fingers folding around his thin wrist. “Don’t run.” he said, as if scolding a small child.

“Right, sorry.” 

Jack released him watching as Brock took the cup and forced himself to walk at a slow unhurried pace when he wanted to dash. He took a ball of ice from where it was nested among its brothers of similar transparency and shape. It clinked against the glass and Brock turned on heel crossing the distance between the freezer and Jack at a painfully slow pace. His breathing was uneven, a bit panicked, but as he laid eyes on Jack a sense of calm fell over him like a sudden hush in the forest. There was something about the man, something ethereal and otherworldly that Brock could never find the words for. Jack took the cup without praise or scorning and splashed a few fingers of bourbon into the glass. He lifted it but didn’t bring it to his lips. 

“Come.” 

Confused Brock approached only for Jack to rest the cool glass against his bottom lip. “Sir?” he whispered, the smell of the liquor was sharp and bold with hints of vanilla which seemed too delicate to belong to such a full bodied bourbon. 

“Drink, you need to relax.” 

Brock wanted to protest that he was relaxed (no, that was a lie. His nonna always told him omegas who lied would die alone.) but he followed the order and took a mouthful of the liquor. It burned and Brock wanted to spit it out but he forced it down. The heat traveled down his throat burning his stomach. Moisture gathered in a thin sheen over his eyes and Brock inhaled through his nose and kept his eyes open to let the warm air dry it. Thankfully Jack drew the glass away and Brock hesitantly looked at him. 

“What happened today?” 

“I… I tried my best,” Brock whispered. He couldn’t lie, he had to expose to Jack that he’d taken on an omega that didn’t belong in his world of splendor and luxury. He didn’t have an impressive bloodline, hadn’t attended extensive courses in etiquette. 

“I didn’t ask if you tried your best, I asked you what happened.” Jack tipped the glass back. “Come with me.” 

Brock felt like he was sinking into a dark bog, each step dragging him closer to the floor leaving him feeling small and weak when he finally stood in front of Jack who had settled back into his arm chair. He opened his legs and looked down at the space of floor opened between them. 

“Sit.” 

Brock folded himself down as carefully as he could wringing his hands together nervously as he did so. It felt like he was finally going to be called out for the fraud he was. Like he’d been called out earlier. He looked down, he didn’t want to see Jack’s face when he admitted how he’d embarrassed him at the club luncheon. Jack’s hand slipped around his throat, fingers stroking the glands on either side of this throat. His bare, exposed, throat. Brock couldn’t help but melt into the touch, unpleasant emotions parting for the lazy comfort as his body was coaxed to release dopamine. 

“What happened?” 

“ ‘m not good enough for you.” His tongue was loose like this. Jack knew what he was doing but Brock couldn’t be panicked by that when he was touching him where he was. All he could do was give and obey like a good omega did. Like a good omega should but he wasn’t a good one. He didn’t deserve an Alpha like Jack. “I’m just some cornpone cunt.” 

The stroking stopped immediately and Brock whimpered at the sudden chemical drop in his body. His head hurt and his guts were tied up in knots as he realized what he’d said. It wasn’t polite to cuss, his nonna always told him. 

“Who told you that?” 

“I’m sorry Jack,” Brock said, voice hardly over a whisper. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t’ve --” 

“The only thing you should be doing right now is answering my question.” 

Brock didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think about the Alpha who had pressed him against the wall and tried to wedge his thigh between them. The one who had gotten angry when Brock wouldn’t drop to his knees for him. 

“Brock.” 

Brock cringed at the edge in his voice. They were still so new; Jack was going to send him away and his nonna would be so disappointed. His father was right: there was only one use for an omega and he was a fool for not doing his job. “I know, I know I should have done what he asked but-but I don’t want him. I only want you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“Who is ‘he’, Brock?” Jack had softened his voice but the intensity was still there. 

Brock dunked his head. “Mr. Pierce.” 

“Pierce?” Jack said sharply. 

Brock cringed, chin tucked against his chest. “Yes sir.” 

Brock could feel his disappointment in chilling waves as silence hung between them, thick and heavy suffocating Brock. He wished the floor would swallow him up, save him for having to address his mistake. Jack’s hand returned to his neck and, though Brock didn’t deserve it, massaged his glands to satiate him. He was grateful that Jack was even tolerating him now he knew how disobedient he was. Now that he could clearly see that Mr. Pierce was right -- he was just a cornpone cunt who didn’t know his place in the hierarchy. 

“Why did Mr. Pierce say that to you, Brock?” 

Even with the good feelings Jack was indulging his body in ugly emotions welded up his chest, warring with the good ones. “He wanted me to give him a blow job.” 

His fingers stilled for a second, just long enough for the panic to mount up, before they continued, battering the panic back down to tolerable levels. “And you refused.” 

“I belong to you, not him.” Brock mumbled. “I’m yours, only yours.” 

“Yes you are. Come here.” 

The hand fell free and Brock was once more struck with fear. Now Jack knew, how that it had been stated so bluntly, he would realize that Brock really was a cornpone and cornpones had no place in Jack’s perfect world. If only he could have been the kind of omega that Jack truly deserved. One with poise, one who didn’t drop their ‘g’s and had a refined sense of self. All the things Brock never got growing up in the boondocks. All the things that Brock had tried so hard not to show. 

“I’ll deal with him,” Jack said darkly. 

“...you’re not mad at me?” Brock asked hesitantly, confused. 

“Of course not. Why would I be? Pierce tried to take advantage of you and you didn’t let him. I’m proud of you.” 

Proud of him? He perked up a bit at that. “Really?” 

“Yes, really. Come here,” Jack pulled him onto his lap and Brock loved the closeness. He wanted to drown in Jack’s scent, sweet and a musky with a bitter tang of bourbon on his breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I didn’t?” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Brock could finally breathe. “I’m not smart like the other omegas ‘round here.” 

“You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for,” Jack said sternly. “I don’t like people to insult things that are mine -- that goes for you too. You’re mine, you’ll treat yourself well.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“How about you get dinner started? I’ll come help you in a moment. I have a call to place.” 

Brock got up immediately and to the kitchen. He was laying down a steak in the cast iron when Jack wrapped his arms around him, kissing his neck. Brock went plaint, sinking against his firm body. All the bitter feelings from the day freed by Jack’s love and adoration. He still didn’t think he deserved it but thought that, maybe, one day he would. 

That evening Brock was curled up against his Alpha, basking in the afterglow of orgasm. Jack carded his fingers through Brock’s hair, reading. Everything was as it should be. 

It was the last time Brock was called a cornpone and the last time anyone would see Alexander Pierce.

**Author's Note:**

> Cornpone definition: an unsophisticated rural person, especially from the South


End file.
